The times when hope fades
by Ms.Maritime
Summary: Sam and Dean are separated, going down very different paths. Castiel is injured, but when a new threat arises he goes to Sam for help. Together, they try to pick up the pieces of their lives as they deal with Dean's death, as Dean thrives in his new life as a demon. When things go wrong facing their new enemy, Sam and Castiel realize Dean may not be who they remembered. Post S9.


Dean was gone.

There were too many times the Winchester family had been ripped apart by circumstances outside their control. Sam was tired of it. Demonic plots and angel manipulation to achieve a self-fulfilling prophecy between two homo-erotic brothers who couldn't let go of the past had twisted and corrupted any hopes Sam had in an afterlife. It wasn't that he didn't believe in an afterlife (quite the opposite), but that was the problem. He'd seen both heaven and hell. Neither seemed to live up to the hype. As his thoughts bounced around every unused inch of the abandoned bunker, Sam thought about Dean. He wondered which fate had befallen his brother: was he damned to stand in an endless line for eternity, or was he equally doomed to sit and watch his fondest memories go by in a never ending loop? And then there was himself. Grief was a synonym for "daily life" for Sam and Dean. They'd lost each other so many times before it was hard for him to admit that Dean was really gone and he wouldn't be back in six months, all snarky grin and sarcasm. Dean had been Sam's whole world. They never truly trusted anyone but each other. Dean was his best friend, worst enemy, and favorite rival.

Dean was family.

And then there was the note.

Admittedly, the per-verbal moose had ignored it at first. Passing it off as more manipulation to send him into a vengeful rage. But the longer he stared at the note, the longer the message festered like an open wound in his mind made it easier for him to fall for the temptation of hope.

Any hunter worth their lackluster paycheck knew that hope was dangerous. A luxury reserved for others who didn't know how harsh reality was. Hope was a whispering seductress who always knew the best way to get her man, and Sam had fallen for it every time. But not anymore. Instead, building inside his chest was a burning rage. He knew that whoever had put this note here wanted him to believe his brother was alive, and he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of believing it. His brother was never coming back, and he refused to be a pawn by believing otherwise.

But his weak spot had always been his brother.

That's why no matter how hard he wanted to believe that Dean wasn't alive, some small part of him believed it was true. And his brain wouldn't let go of that inkling, that slim chance that Dean was out there somewhere, and he clung to it like a life-line.

But the longer he waited for Dean, the more he tried to accept that while he may be alive he didn't want to see him, the more desperate he got.

And the more desperate he got, the more forceful his tactics.

"Nice to see you again."

A shrill, surprised gasp followed by a scream escaped the woman before Sam was holding her tightly by the throat, knife pointed at her chest. He could feel her heart-rate steadily increase, pulsing in her neck as she looked at the hunter and shook her head rapidly, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. Nothing like the empty black pools Sam knew them to be.

"Don't play dumb!" Sam demanded, pressing her hard against the rough brick of the bar they were outside of. "You can't hide from me. Now, I have questions and if you don't answer me-" he pressed the blade slowly forward, causing a cry of pain from the woman in front of him. "Please..." She whimpered. "I- I don't know anything."

Sam hadn't thought twice before plunging the blade through what he knew to be a demon until she squealed for mercy, and then he only stabbed harder. His one true lead's blood still stained his hands. The rage that flushed his cheeks and made adrenaline spike through his system like a tidal wave stayed in his eyes until his entire body froze.

The woman wasn't glowing red.

She wasn't a demon.

Sam had froze, his boiling blood turning to ice, as he watched the woman bleed out beneath him. There was no way to save her now; she was already dead. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the hunter, confused, hurt and in pain. Because of Sam.

Sam hadn't left the bunker since.

He hadn't eaten, either. Or slept. He'd been desperately trying to find his brother, wanting to prove to himself that the woman hadn't died in vain; whether it was by pouring over ancient texts in search of tracking spells or simply calling his elder brother, he tried to contact Dean. But nothing worked.

Not yet defeated, but finished with his work for the day, Sam gently cupped his face in his palms, looking for another beer to give him energy and take his mind away from his guilt and loneliness.

He almost didn't notice the sound of feathers rustling behind him.

"We need to talk."

Castiel.

* * *

><p>Dean had never felt so alive.<p>

Admittedly that was a strange thought coming from the man who'd died nearly four months prior, and should still be dead. He'd looked straight into his brother's doe eyes and told him that he was proud of them. With his dying breath, he'd lied to his brother's face. Honestly? He was so proud of Sammy. He just wasn't proud of himself. Or at least that's what the hunter said to try to justify (accept?) what he'd done ever since he'd left his brother's side. He felt guilty about that too, and that's why he'd left the note. But to be honest? It felt damn near heavenly to be a demon (if you ignored the irony). He felt like he didn't have to hide his true self; something he hadn't realized he'd done before but was agony to go without now. The freedom that this lack of rules brought him felt like a breath of fresh air, weight off his previously too burdened shoulders. He no longer carried the fate of the world, or had to weigh the fates of others over his own interests and desires. His destiny was his own. Michael wouldn't want to touch an abomination like him anymore, and that thought alone made Dean smile every time he'd see his black eyes. Restraint wasn't part of his vocabulary. The mark of Cain burned pleasantly on his skin at all times, reminding him constantly of its power and hold over him.

The mark was a beast.

It lusted and hungered for destruction, and Dean obliged. Blood stains were recurring annoyances on nearly every article of clothing he owned now, and he didn't care. Instead of waking up every morning and seeing his little brother's teasing, know-it-all face, he instead saw corpses. Night after night the bodies would build, adding themselves into the meaningless, nameless heap of his victims. Collateral damage of the mark. And Dean would savor every minute of it, ravaging the bodies of innocents he once fought for. There was no order for the Dean Winchester. No difference between right and wrong, only the urge to kill. Despite his old self growing more distant everyday, Dean had never felt more alive.

Then there was Crowley.

He had been with the reborn demon since the beginning. This had partially been Dean's doing, despite the king of hell being the one who'd neglected to mention some pretty glaring details about the mark. The fact that he had kept these intimacies secret left Dean with a bit of a bone to pick with the king. That's why he was here.

"Gotta say Winchester, I was kind of surprised when you said you were interested in this."

They were meeting in the back of a stolen freight truck, parked in an abandoned alley-way with the night bringing a cold wind steadily whistling against the icy metal. There was no light inside the truck, only the sound of breathing shared by the gathered demons. Despite being new at being a demon, Dean knew that Crowley had ears everywhere, and the ex-hunter was certain there was little more Crowley would like to do than impale Dean's head on a stick. Especially when here was a way he could do it without moving a finger. He simply had to wait for Dean to break a rule.

"I never asked for your opinion on the issue." Dean said shortly. "And frankly I don't give a damn. Just let Ikkian know I'm in."

The demon, Cage, smirked, withholding a chuckle. "You want to kill Crowley. I still can't believe it."

A burst of anger inside him, and Dean lunged forward; he kicked Cage harshly in his side and then bashed his foot into the side of the Demon's head, the mark sizzling in anticipation. "Something you want to say to me?" Dean growled.

"Yeah, actually I do." Cage snarled. "The hell do you think you are, Dean? You may have those eyes but you still think you can walk all over us! I'm getting sick of your god-damn superiority complex." He said, breathing hard as Dean's foot pressed down hard against him.

"I'm getting sick of your attitude." Dean snapped, glaring down at him. "And your mouth." With one quick motion he shoved a blade straight through the demon's mouth to his throat, killing him. He kicked his body to the side and stood up. Only two demons remained, but they showed no resistance as Dean stepped out of the truck.

"Tell Ikkian I won't just be there to take out Crowley." He stated, smirking. "I'll be in charge. Just be ready." With this, he disappeared. He had to leave everything behind now.

Because he wasn't just leading the force against their old rival.

Dean was the replacement.

* * *

><p>"We need to talk."<p>

Castiel had come a long way to say these words. But his stolen grace, slowly chipping away inside of him, had made the journey even more difficult.

"Cas-" Sam said, jolting upright. "What are you doing here? I didn't pray to you." It sounded more surprised than angry, though Castiel didn't seem to notice there was a tone in his voice at all.

"I do not have to be prayed to in order to be fly, Sam."

"I know." Sam quickly rebutted apologetically. He felt too miserable to argue. "It's not that. I didn't think you'd be able to fly unless summoned with your grace the way it is." He paused. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." It was a lie. The angel wasn't fine, but pretending that he was made it easier to avoid the problem. Sam knew the angel too well though, and raised a thick brunette eyebrow. Castiel sighed. "It can wait." He relented.

The hunter shook his head. "No, it can't. You're dying. I should have tried to see you sooner, Cas, and I'm sorry. But with Dean being- away, the note and everything else." He restrained himself there. He hadn't told anyone about what he'd done yet, and it wasn't worth it to bring it up now. "I haven't thought about it."

Castiel shook his head. "I would've came if anything had gotten worse. And you were dealing with problems of your own." It felt good not to think of his own issues for a minute. It felt as if he was being selfish all this time, not bothering with anyone but himself. Which brought up the reason for his journey. "Are you able to hunt?"

This tangent surprised Sam, and he glanced at the books in front of him for a long moment before responding. He only acknowledged the angel's question with a nod.

Castiel looked at Sam's sickly pale skin then, his sunken green eyes that looked like they'd seen more of their fair share of hell than normal, and the way his posture had more of a slouch than usual. He realized that Dean's disappearance had affected him more than he'd admit. He blinked thoughtfully, mourning the loss of his friend as well. He hadn't let himself dwell on it yet. Probably wouldn't. "Sam, I would understand if you can't go right now."

"No." Sam responded immediately. "You wouldn't have come if it wasn't important. What's going on?"

"Egypt."

Sam looked reasonably perplexed. "Egypt?"

"Yes. I believe one of the Sphinx's is causing problems in Omaha." Castiel responded.

This made more sense to the hunter (which probably would've scared some people, but was normal for him). "I never knew sphinx were a real thing." Why couldn't they just stay enormous monuments like they were supposed to?

"It's not quite the same as the statues, Sam. They're actually very powerful. That's the problem."

"Why? Can't the angels defeat them?"

Castiel went silent, which worried Sam. "Can you kill these things? Sphinx?"

More silence. "No."

Sam glanced at his surroundings with a bit more understanding. "So you wanted me to help you kill it. Look through the archives." He said, not as a question but as his own understating. Castiel nodded.

"Then lets get started."

* * *

><p>Melissa Riley hated the zoo.<p>

Besides the awful smells and food that tasted more like cardboard than real food, she really hated that her little brother was able to convince her parents to go to every god-damned exhibit in the entire zoo (And Was if really necessary to see the monkeys twice)?

But what she hated most was that the exhibits seemed to follow her home.

It wasn't the alligator plush that her little brother brought home either. It seemed like every time she turned around, a jaguar from the zoo seemed to be right there outside her field of vision, growling fiercely. It disappeared every time she tuned back around, but she'd swear she had actually seen it. She would've brought it up to her parents if she thought it meant anything. Still, she choked it up to staying up until three a.m. the night before, and getting up four hours later, so she hadn't.

God she needed some sleep.

As soon as Melissa and her family got home at 9 o'clock that evening after shopping and getting greasy yet satisfying take-out, she went upstairs to her room and flopped down on her bed, too tired to do anything but toss off her itchy shirt.

When she woke up it was pitch black out; four a.m. Melissa wiped her eyes groggily and cursed herself. She felt too awake to go back to sleep. She regretted going to bed as early as she had, but she decided that it had been worth it. Besides, maybe some anime would be on this late. It might not be such a bad night after all.

After an hour she knew she must be hallucinating, because her favorite show was on (it never was), and the growling started again.

It was first outside her window, then it was outside her bedroom door (which she promptly locked). Once she locked the door the growling stopped, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Laying back on her bed a few hours later, exhausted again, Melissa r took one last glance around her room before closing her eyes.

Her door slowly clicked unlocked, but she didn't hear the growling anymore. Nothing to worry about.

Then two hands grasped around her neck.

Her throat burned and gagged as she thrashed against her attacker, unable to see them in the dark, her eyes squeezing shut from the pain as her attacker's hands sizzled through her skin, clenching her throat tightly, unrelenting. It wasn't just a feeling of burning, either. Through her clenched eyes she could feel the dim glow of a rampaging fire. She tried to scream out, to call for her parents, her brother, anyone, but all she could do is thrash until she finally went still, her blue eye opening one last time as she tried to get one good looker her attacker.

But all she could see was a figure dissolving into a heap of sand onto the floor, then disappear through her floor boards and into the night.


End file.
